Temporary Bliss
by huimoxxie
Summary: Really, how stupid could you get? Falling in love with Sherlock Holmes, of all people, and then consenting to be in a fake relationship with him for a case? John Watson, you have dug yourself into a deep hole.
1. Chapter 1

_Really, how stupid could you get? Falling in love with Sherlock Holmes, of all people, and then consenting to be in a fake relationship with him for a case? John Watson, you have dug yourself into a deep hole._

It was a quarter past two and John was still lying awake, squeezed uncomfortably into Sherlock's bed and lamenting his naiveness. Really, what made him think that he could even pretend to be in a fake relationship with Sherlock and come out of it unscathed?

Of course, he knew the reason why. He had been painfully in love with Sherlock since the case with Irene and when Sherlock suggested they faked a relationship for a case, he jumped on the suggestion eagerly, thinking that even if it was simply for a short while, even if none of it was real, Sherlock would be his.

Naturally, since it was only for show, they only had to keep up the pretense while they were out in public. Once they were out of the public eye, in the safety of 221B, they would resume being friends. It was torture for John and he knew it.

Take now, for example. John was squeezed uncomfortably into Sherlock's bed because Sherlock had insisted that if someone was to enter 221B and find that they were sleeping in separate beds, people would be more likely to doubt their authenticity of their relationship.

Every night, John felt like simply ignoring Sherlock's demand and resume sleeping in his own bed. It would be so much easier for him. Being forced to sleep, knowing that Sherlock was merely a few inches away but not being able to touch was killing him. John could tell it wasn't long before he was going to open his mouth or do something stupid and reveal to Sherlock that he was in love with him.

He could already imagine the response. Sherlock's nose would wrinkle in disgust and he would shake his head pityingly. He would give John the same condescending brush off he had given at the very start. _"I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest…"_

_Screw this_, John thought, as he carefully scooted himself away from the sleeping Sherlock, _I can't do this anymore. I'm going to drive myself mad._ He tried to leave as quietly as possible, but as he reached the door, there was the soft sound of rustling cloth. "John?" came the low baritone, muffled from sleep.

He debated pretending that he didn't hear Sherlock and leaving but then decided against it. "Go back to sleep, Sherlock," he said instead. He wanted to say more, but he wasn't sure he could control his own mouth and not blurt out his secret. He faced the door resolutely and opened it, slipping out in the moonlit living room.

"Where are you going?" he heard as he shut the door behind him. John thought he heard an underlying current of hurt in the question but ignored it. Obviously, it was what he had convinced himself he heard, a result of his fruitless wishes that Sherlock loved him back.

He shook his head, he was in his forties for God's sake! And here he is, a desperate old man, pining over someone he couldn't have. Pathetic. Dragging his feet, he made his way back into his bedroom, fighting down the feeling of loneliness as he prepared himself to sleep alone in the drafty room upstairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone has secrets. It's just that when you are Sherlock Holmes, they become irrelevant. There is no point hiding them when he can practically read them off you like words off a book.

Thank God John Watson is no Sherlock Holmes then. Sherlock Holmes has a secret or two himself, and they were the type he would take to the grave. For example, he was hopelessly in love with his flat mate, John Watson.

There were times where Sherlock thought he had betrayed himself, and his secret had been revealed, like when John caught him staring or when he found himself touching John a lot more than was completely necessary. In fact, he found himself surprised that John had not realized that this case of theirs was completely fake, and simply a desperate attempt to get John closer to him. It was a ridiculous idea, something that was never meant to be shared. When he realized his tongue slipped, he was just about to run and hide from the shame and embarrassment at the obvious plan, when John agreed to pretend to be his lover.

Mycroft had already shown up when John was out the next day and berated him. The whole thing was very predictable and Sherlock had sneered at Mycroft and told him he knew what he was doing and "everything was under control". Still Mycroft's last words when he left were still stuck in his head, on an endless loop, like a broken record.

"It will only end in heartbreak, Sherlock. For both you and Doctor Watson."

What Sherlock didn't say was that it was impossible, for John Watson's heart could have never been broken by Sherlock Holmes, whereas his was already broken from the minute he realized he was in love and it would never be requited.

As John walked out of the room as quietly as possible, Sherlock grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around himself as tightly as possible. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like something was resting heavily in his chest, suffocating him and all he wanted to do was scream.

Clearly, John had finally caught on. As he was walking upstairs, he was probably already making plans to leave in the morning. What else did he expect? This ridiculous 'case' of theirs, hideously off the scale of "a bit not good". He could practically hear John's thoughts:

_'Really, I must have been insane to put up with this for so long. Sally was right, I better stay away from that freak.'_

Sherlock couldn't remember when he had fallen asleep last night but judging from the dampness of his cheek and the red angry skin on the back of his knuckles, it must have been after his apparent self-abuse.

Really, could he be any more pathetic?

As he walked out of the bedroom, he froze mid-yawn at the sight of John sitting in his chair, hands clasped tightly around a cup of tea. Immediately it was obvious why. A small suitcase was sitting next to his chair, and he couldn't see John's belongings anywhere in the flat.

So that was it then. John was moving out, probably going to live with his sister for a while before getting a flat out of his own. Maybe he would even get another roommate.

He felt like he had been punched, visualizing the scene. John living with someone else, most likely another man, small possibility of it being a woman, laughing, eating dinner together, a trip down to the pub to watch the latest soccer match.

He would meet someone someday, someone who was not Sherlock. Maybe he would fall in love with his flat mate or simply somebody he had met randomly somewhere. They would get married, get their own house, and have 2.5 children. Simple. Normalcy. Everything Sherlock wasn't.

"Sherlock?" he heard John call worriedly. Quickly, he snapped out of it and gestured at John's suitcase. "Moving out then, John?" he asked as he walked over to the kitchen and sat down in front of the microscope, grabbing a random slide.

There was weak laughter from John, "Knew you would figure it out."

A sigh. "Yeah, Sherlock, I'm moving out. Going to stay with my sister for a while."

"Why?" he asked, sounding like a whiny child, on the verge of throwing a tantrum when he couldn't get what he want.

John shrugged. "I dunno, just seems appropriate I guess. I mean, I'm 42, I can't live with you forever, can I?" he answered, chuckling lightly.

_Yes, yes, you can._ "Of course not," he answered. "When are you leaving?"

"Tonight. I'm leaving for my sister tonight."

Sherlock nodded before turning his head around to face the microscope again, if only to hide his face from John, as his heart was breaking once more.


End file.
